


Early Riser

by Kibu



Category: Suikoden II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kibu/pseuds/Kibu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are early risers. Some people have really loud alarm clocks. Sometimes the guy in the other apartment is just looking for the right excuse for a meet-cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Riser

**Author's Note:**

> This was an AU writing prompt from Tumblr and I had the idea so I ran with it. I may or may not be considering a follow-up. We'll see?

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—_

Every day without fail the piercing shriek of an alarm clock shattered through the stillness in Camus’ tiny apartment. It was only predawn; the sky barely showed the gray promise of the sun’s inevitable rising. Even on weekends, Camus woke before the sun. Even mornings where he’d only gone to sleep maybe an hour before, he was awake to the sound of that alarm.

It wasn’t even his.

The guy who inhabited the apartment below his was apparently a morning person, if his constant, unwanted wake-up call was anything to judge by. Sometimes Camus could go back to sleep once the obnoxious sound ceased, but more often he found himself making a cup of coffee and curling up on the sill of the kitchen window to watch the sun come up.

It was entirely because that window had the best view of the sun. It had nothing to do with the fact that it also looked out over the entryway to the apartment building and allowed him to see his lark of a neighbor leaving on his daily morning run. When he went and got a second cup of coffee and stayed in his makeshift seat, it wasn’t because he wanted to see the dark-haired man returning, sweating but obviously exhilarated – it was because he just wasn’t ready to shower and get dressed and prepare to go to work.

On this day things changed.

The alarm went off, as always, its constant screeching tone ripping through the quiet darkness of early morning. Camus dragged himself out of bed, grumbling under his breath as he shed his pajama pants and reached for the clothes he’d set out the night before: A pair of gray track pants and a soft red t-shirt. This was such a dumb idea. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?

He continued to ask himself questions that only the sneaky little voice in the back of his head could answer. _‘Because you want to see him,’_ it said as Camus laced up his running shoes. _‘Because he’s driving you crazy in ways that have nothing to do with an alarm clock.’_

“Shut up,” Camus growled out loud, running a hand through his hair to comb it and hurrying out his front door. He heard the door on the floor below open, and hastily threw the locks before rushing down the stairs.

The dark-haired Centurion of a man that Camus had been watching from his window for weeks was just leaving his floor when Camus passed it. He nodded a greeting, a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. Camus felt his heart flutter, and swallowed down a mouthful of words that were entirely inappropriate for a morning meeting with someone you didn’t know.

Camus reached the door first, pushing it open and holding it for his neighbor. “After you,” he said, congratulating himself inwardly for managing to sound something like normal.

“Thanks,” the other man said with a quirk of a smile.

Camus almost faltered, but found his footing again and jogged along in his neighbor’s wake. It was only natural that they would both head for the footpath through the nearby park. Where else was one supposed to run? It wasn’t like he was following the other guy or anything; that would be weird.

It had been far too long since Camus had gone running. The other man outstripped him easily, his long legs giving him an extra advantage along with his ridiculous athleticism. Only a few minutes into the park, Camus had lost sight of him along the tree-lined path.

This wasn’t going anywhere near like Camus had expected. Somehow he had managed to dream up a scenario where they ran together, talking about nothing and everything, and somehow one thing would lead to another and their post-run shower would be in tandem in a shower that was nothing like the tiny cubbyhole in Camus’ apartment. That was the way of dreams; they defied logic.

Camus stuck with it a little while longer, getting himself to the one mile marker before turning and beginning a slow jog back to the apartment building. As he neared the entrance to the park, the steady slap of sneakers on pavement came closer and closer behind him. A glance over Camus’ shoulder showed him exactly what he expected to see – and yet so much better.

His neighbor, his overly gorgeous neighbor, was bare-chested and gleaming in the first rays of sunlight as he jogged closer. Feeling himself flush, Camus quickly looked ahead again. He’d already made a fool of himself by attempting this stupid run; the last thing he wanted was to completely humiliate himself by openly staring… even if the temptation to stare was nearly overwhelming.

Camus was acutely aware of how close the other man was getting, and it surprised him to realize that the footsteps were slowing to match his. Only a moment later, they were jogging side-by-side along the path.

“You’re fast,” Camus said, unable to bite his tongue in time to keep the words from spilling out.

“Thanks,” his neighbor said, glancing over at him.

There were so many things that Camus wanted to say. It wasn’t until they got to the front door that he was able to pick a single sentence out of the Gordian knot of thoughts. “I’m Camus.”

“Miklotov,” the other man replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Camus said. He grinned, elated by the tiny victory of finally learning his neighbor’s name. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me for a cup of coffee?”


End file.
